


Facing Complications

by Charity_Angel



Category: Christian Bible (Old Testament), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Biblical Reinterpretation, Don't say I didn't warn you, Footnotes, Gen, Mentions of Rape, and i'm going to tag just in case, back when they were young, but it happens in the Bible, here be footnotes, joseph is a dick, kind of, moulting, not even a character who appears, not on-screen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:07:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24612013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charity_Angel/pseuds/Charity_Angel
Summary: In which Crawly finds a prophet with an uncanny knack for annoying people and there's no angel to protect him.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	1. The Show Must Go On

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Of Firsts and Foremosts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20885246) by [Kedreeva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedreeva/pseuds/Kedreeva). 



> oops it's another good omens fic...
> 
> This one occurred to me while I was writing [Another (Moult) Bites The Dust](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20957195), and could be considered a very loose sequel. Very, very loose.
> 
> Has anyone else realised as they grew up that Joseph is a bit of a dick?
> 
> Footnotes are hoverable, or linked at the end.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crawly has one last job to do before a well-deserved rest. Or a biologically mandated one. Whichever.

Crawly was watching God’s latest chosen ones when he started to feel that dreaded, semi-familiar itching. But it wasn’t going to deter him from this job: among the Children of Israel was a prophet. The eldest of Rachel’s boys, Jacob’s favourite was making a fool of himself. He was a bit of a dick, if anyone asked Crawly[1], and getting far too big for his boots. He needed taking down a peg or two.

It honestly didn’t even take much: his ten elder brothers were heartily sick of him already and they just needed a little nudge. Okay, quite a bit of a little nudge because most of them were fundamentally good men, and none of them would ordinarily consider doing away with the prophet, but that was what made this game fun. Ten souls that would be bound for Hell[2], all at once, and all it would take was a few words. He was good at words, was Crawly: that was how he had tempted Eve, after all. Just words. Didn’t even need any miracles. Not with her back then, and not now – his tongue was clever enough, and just as well: he could feel his magic trickling away with every passing second.

Just a whisper here and a quiet word there; a commiserating drink when Joseph had been at his most obnoxious. It wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Ten of them and one of him, it wouldn’t take so long. Just a little stab, or a broken neck. An accidental nudge off a cliff. And then him and his dreams would be gone, and their lives would go back to normal. Yes, their father would grieve, but he would still have all his other children. He’d been a busy boy had Jacob; it wasn’t like he was short of kids to pass on the bloodline.

Of course, Aziraphale showed his face _just_ as Crawly thought he had them convinced[3].

“Dear me, how are we going to get you home? You’ve allowed it to go on too long, dear boy.”

That was true: he’d dropped too many flight feathers already to get himself back to his precious ærie; the one they had weathered many a moult by now – both Crawly’s and Aziraphale’s[4].

“Plenty of places to hide out round here,” Crawly said with a shrug. “Some nice safe caves over that way.”

He pointed towards the mountains: they weren’t so distant that it would take more than a couple of hours to walk, and he had already scoped out somewhere that would hide him sufficiently until his power came back. He just had this one job to finish off, and he was so close now. Honestly, as glad as he usually was to have the angel around to watch his back while he was vulnerable, Aziraphale was a bit of a snag in the plan. After all, Crawly was planning on doing away with a prophet and Heaven wasn’t going to be happy about that.

“Whatever has kept you here all this time?”

“Prophetic dreams,” Crawly said, not precisely lying. “That boy does talk a load of crap, doesn’t he? Sheaves of corn and stars, and him being the best? And parading around in that ridiculous robe, showing off that he’s their father’s favourite? Completely full of himself.”

Aziraphale smiled thinly. “That’s the way it is with prophets, I’m afraid. They’re either utterly mad or utterly self-absorbed. There doesn’t seem to be any middle ground. You wouldn’t believe the number of messages I have sent upstairs about moderating the effects.”

“So why are you here?”

“Protecting the boy,” Aziraphale said. “He’s one of ours, after all. I’ve been away doing some minor miracles over in Egypt, but I’m stationed here for the time being to make sure no harm befalls him.”

Oh. _Fuckshittwatwankbollocks_.

“Crawly, you’re very quiet.”

He couldn’t dispute that, despite the rampant swearing in his head. He really wasn’t very good at this ‘adversaries’ thing[5]. It had been different when Aziraphale hadn’t been there: it had been easy to plot the prophet’s demise without a certain angel looking out for him.

“What have you done?”

“Nothing much. I can’t do anything much, can I?”

Aziraphale sighed and turned sad eyes on him. Those eyes – that whole _disappointed_ expression – seriously should not be allowed. “You’re far too clever to rely wholly on your magic, you wily old serpent. Go; you must be tired by now. I’ll gather some food and meet you at the caves.

“No, I…” He stumbled suddenly, and Aziraphale caught him, his touch gentle but his hold oh so strong. Crawly leaned his head against Aziraphale’s shoulder briefly, allowing himself this tiny amount of reassuring physical contact. He shouldn’t _want_ it so much, he knew, but this angel was well and truly under his skin by now. He’d proven centuries ago that he would do anything for Aziraphale.[6]

“You need to rest, Crowley,” Aziraphale insisted. “Will you be able to make it to the caves?”

“Might… might need to kip first,” Crowley admitted. “I have a tent round the back of the house.” He straightened up and uncurled his fingers from Aziraphale’s robes, stepped away from that oh-so-tempting presence. Now was not the time to indulge in being able to snuggle up to the angel[7].

He stumbled away to the tent he had erected more for show than anything else, to give the illusion that he was sleeping somewhere. Which, as the weeks passed, had become less and less of an illusion and more of an actuality. Getting a few hours of sleep every now and then was helpful even in the first stages of moult, to give his corporation a bit of extra energy. And sleeping in the early stages wasn’t like the complete unconsciousness that would come later on: he was still alert enough to be woken by things pinging on his senses[8].

Reaching the tent, Crowley collapsed onto the fur and was asleep before he could even realise that Aziraphale had followed closely behind him.

.oOo.

Aziraphale checked the area carefully for threats – predators and the like – before stationing himself outside of Crawly’s tent to keep watch. While it might not be considered appropriate by his superiors, Aziraphale was not about to let anything happen to his adversary. Much better Crawly than any other demon who would be an unknown variable in Heaven’s plans: Aziraphale knew how to work around Crawly since he was fairly laconic. Not that Aziraphale was much more lively himself, if he was honest.

As the sun sank lower and lower in the sky, there was time for him to consider what Crawly had been up to. To have found the demon close to the prophet – close enough to be sleeping on the family’s land – was somewhat worrying. Hell would surely want the boy disposed of, and Crawly would attempt to corrupt as many souls as possible in the process. 

Oh. Oh dear. It was really quite obvious, wasn’t it? The child had irritated his brothers enough that it wouldn’t even take that much persuasion from Crawly. Ten corrupted souls. That was simply not acceptable; not only must the prophet be saved, but redeeming ten souls as well would be a tall order and Aziraphale had no idea just how much time he had available to him.

It wasn’t long after he had reached this rather horrifying conclusion that one of the older Children came round to the back of the dwelling. It had been several years since Aziraphale had been in Canaan, but he thought that this was the eldest of Jacob’s sons, Reuben.

“Oh! Where’s Tanith?”[9]

“He’s asleep,” Aziraphale said softly. “He’s not feeling quite right this evening. It appears that I arrived at something of an inopportune moment for him.”

The young man hesitated, clearly uncertain.

“You look troubled, child. Take a seat.” He patted the fur he was sat on and scooted over so that he was sat on one end, leaving the other free for maybe-Reuben. “I’m Aziraphale. Tanith is an old friend.”

“Reuben,” the youngster said, reassuring Aziraphale’s memory as he sat down and looked at his feet. Aziraphale handed him the skin of wine he had been sipping slowly over the last hour or so and Reuben took a mouthful almost absently.

After a few minutes there was a very heavy sigh. “I’m torn: there’s something that needs to be done for the sake of my family, but my heart tells me it is not right morally.”

Could it possibly be this simple? One doubter to save all ten souls and the life of the prophet?

“Without wanting to pry into the precise circumstances, perhaps there is another alternative?” he suggested. “Something that would still benefit your family, and save your soul from eternal damnation?”

Aziraphale reflected briefly that he had maybe been a little more heavy-handed than he would have preferred, given the fact that Reuben’s eyes widened dramatically.

“That’s… That’s _perfect_! Yes, that could work! I… I can talk my brothers into… I need to go and work out what to do. Thank you!”

Aziraphale counted that utterly relieved smile as a win for Heaven.

.oOo.

The sun was on the wrong side of the tent when Crawly prised his eyes open. It had been toying with the idea of setting when he had crawled into his tent for a quick kip and was now most definitely in the east. Poking his head out confirmed it was edging towards high in the sky. Also, Aziraphale was sitting outside, holding out a hunk of bread.

“You need to eat, dear boy,” the angel told him. “Keep your strength up.”

Crowley sullenly took the bread, but only because Aziraphale was right: moult was demanding, and it would be worse if he was starving his corporation.

He was slowly chewing on a tough crust when there was a commotion at the house. Many voices overlapped, making it difficult to decipher the exact words, but he was fairly sure he heard the words “Joseph” and “dead”. He tried hard not to look relieved. That was easier to accomplish when he realised that Aziraphale would probably be in trouble for allowing their precious prophet to get himself killed. Not too much, he hoped: it wouldn’t do to have Aziraphale replaced as the guardian of Earth. Especially not right now, with Crawly so vulnerable. He wouldn’t stand a chance against another angel right now.

Aziraphale looked to be on the verge of getting up to see what the commotion was about when Reuben appeared.

“We didn’t do it,” he said to Aziraphale with a slight smile. “My brothers still wanted Joseph gone for good, but I persuaded them to throw him into the cistern. I was going to go back later and get him out, but a group of Ishmaelite traders came by, and we sold him instead.”

“Sold him?” Aziraphale repeated, sounding astonished. “You sold your own brother?”[10]

Crawly picked at the crust, hardly daring to believe his ears – all that hard work and the bloody prophet was still alive?

Reuben looked down at his hands. “Better that than killing him,” he said softly. “It’s like you said; he’s not here any more, but he’s not dead either. He’s clever – he’ll be fine as long as he holds his tongue about the dreams. It’s better this way, Tanith: he’s someone else’s problem now.”

 _Damn_ the meddling angel. Damn him all the way to…

No, he couldn’t wish that on Aziraphale. Hell was no place for someone like Aziraphale; he was far too good and kind for damnation, no matter how much Crawly might wish it in the moment.

“I’d best get back. I’ll be missed if I’m gone too long. I just wanted to thank you.”

Aziraphale waved him away before turning his attention to Crawly. Crawly tried valiantly to muster a good glare. He suspected it was lacking somewhat because of the nagging exhaustion that was slowly but surely getting its talons into him.

“It’s a good compromise,” the angel said softly. “You still have nine condemned souls, and I still have my prophet.”

Crawly sighed. “I don’t know how I’m going to explain this one,” he muttered. “Honestly, let an angel get the better of me while I was kipping…”

“While you are _moulting_ , Crawly,” Aziraphale corrected mildly. “You can hardly be blamed for that.”

Crawly eyed him. “We’re talking about the same place, right? Downstairs?”

“Ah. Yes. Good point.” Aziraphale seemed a little flustered. “Finish your bread, Crawly: I think it’s time we took our leave of this place. We need to get you somewhere safe while we still can.”

* * *

1. Which they hadn’t, but that didn’t matter. He was supposed to use his initiative, and he preferred it that way, with no-one interfering with his life.

2. Well, eight new ones, since Simeon and Levi were already well and truly destined for Hell already, after that whole thing with their sister Dinah’s rapist.* Which Crawly honestly hadn’t had anything to do with that at all: he’d never been a fan of that kind of thing, but he’d sworn off for good after Alastair†. Unfortunately humans didn’t need his influence to be shitty to each other.  
* Genesis ch34  
† See “[Another (Moult) Bites the Dust](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20957195)”

3. Although he could admit that maybe Joseph wittering on about stars bowing before him might have helped, just a little. Honestly, the kid was practically doing Crawly’s damned job for him.

4. It was really _their_ ærie by now, but that implied a level of sharing that neither was comfortable with. Although Crawly was not enough of an idiot to deny he wanted, even if he could never say.

5. Neither of them were.

6. See "[Of Firsts and Foremosts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20885246)" by [Kedreeva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedreeva/pseuds/Kedreeva)

7. Of course, officially that was something that never happened. Even unofficially, the only time that either of them ever allowed themselves to do this was for the few weeks a century they went into moult, and that was a mutually beneficial arrangement.

8. Either the occult or physical ones.

9. Aziraphale was a little taken aback as he had never known Crawly to use a different name before, but he supposed that “Crawly” was a little unusual, and a touch obvious when paired with those glorious serpentine eyes. At least Aziraphale’s own name was a little more inconspicuous. Not for the first time, he wondered what Crawly’s name had been before his Fall.

[10.](tx10) Slavery was also something that was absolutely _nothing_ to do with Crawly, but he had gotten a medal for it. Seriously. _Humans_.


	2. Playing My Role in History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crawly finds his way to Egypt and find lots of food, a certain angel and, distressingly, a certain irritating prophet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to make a confession here: until I started writing this, virtually all of my knowledge of this story came from the musical. Which I have only ever heard – never seen (I think I might still have the cassette somewhere). I think I had one RE lesson on it when I was about six or seven. So the details were a tiny bit on the hazy side.
> 
> I have now read this section of Genesis and discovered some glaring inaccuracies in the musical, and while I have tried to stick more closely to Genesis, some of the events in this story are a bit of a muddle of the two. And, let’s be honest, Genesis isn’t exactly 100% consistent with itself either. Although I do love the bit where Jacob tells his sons they’re all dumbasses.
> 
> I have gone back and corrected an error in Chapter 1, regarding the number of brothers involved in Joseph’s… um, disposal. Genesis isn’t specific but, on reflection while writing Chapter 2, it’s obvious that Benjamin was too young to have been involved. That makes nine brothers that did away with Joseph, not ten (discounting Reuben too). Nothing else has changed, just that.

“Crawly?”

He turned to find the angel at the end of the street[11], the sun lighting his ridiculous blond curls and turning them into a halo of light around his head. He looked ridiculously… well, angelic.

He paused to let Aziraphale catch up to him. “What are you doing here?”

“Heard rumours there was food here, followed them. Should ask you the same thing: don’t the poor saps out there need your blessings or some nonsense?”

“Oh, I pop out every now and then,” Aziraphale answered, somewhat vaguely as they continued following the crowd. “But I have duties here.”

Intriguing. What could the angel have to do in this land of plenty where the people didn’t even _believe_ in angels, or just the one god? Saving heathen souls, maybe? To be fair, that was exactly why Crawly was here – to corrupt the souls of the greedy, the non-starving.

There was just no scope for it outside of Egypt: the world had gone to shit in the last couple of years and people were just doing what they needed to in order to survive. Sometimes that involved some ‘accidents’ that would benefit everyone else by reducing the number of mouths to feed, but that wasn’t evil, per se. Or even wrong. Upstairs was forgiving of things done in desperation, where the culprit knew what they were doing was wrong, but they had no other choice to make.

Here, however, the people had no idea of hardship. They had plenty, and so there was a lot more to tempt the right person. Human avarice knew no bounds.

But _why_ would Aziraphale hide that from him? They both knew what each other’s job was, after all. They were Adversaries – he did Heaven’s bidding and tried to keep the little humans on the ‘right path’ to salvation, and Crawly’s was the opposite. And the stupid thing was that he didn’t even need to be all that good at it, because the humans were inclined towards self-destructive insanity more often than should be healthy for any species.

“Why _is_ there so much here, anyway? Keeping food for safekeeping goes against their nature.”

“Crawly, that’s just not so. The humans know very well how to store food for between the harvest periods.”

“Bit of a difference between a few weeks and a couple of _years_ , Angel. They don’t do _this_.” He gestured somewhat expansively at the plaza before them. On the surface, it looked like a market, but in reality it was where the government of Egypt was handing out food to its well-nourished citizens. Not ‘well-nourished’ as in overweight, but not the walking skeletons that were inhabiting most of the rest of the world. Crawly looked like that naturally[12] and didn’t actually need to eat unless he was moulting, so he didn’t stand out too badly out there, but these guys? These guys looked _normal_. They were _healthy_.

And… He blinked. Nope, still there. A face that had haunted him for years. Older, but still recognisable to someone used to watching humanity age before him. The One That Got Away.

“How the _fuck_ …?”

Words failed him. How had he missed that the bloody prophet was still making a nuisance of himself.

“How in Lucifer’s Arse did he get here?”

Aziraphale seemed quite cheerful, and entirely unrepentant about his role in Joseph’s survival. Of course he would be – he was supposed to watch prophets like a… some kind of hunting bird with good eyes.

“It’s been quite a series of events. The Ishmaelites that Reuben and his brothers sold Joseph to made their way here and auctioned him off. Utterly barbaric. He served his new master well, but… the mistress of the house was quite taken with Joseph and was rather used to getting her own way.”

“Go on. That doesn’t explain going from slave to… that.”

“Potiphar, the master, found some evidence that implied impropriety and had Joseph thrown in jail. From what I can tell, the poor boy was completely innocent of any wrongdoing: it was entirely the woman’s fault[13]. She was rather put out that he wouldn’t give into temptation and managed to make it look like he had tried to take advantage of her in her sleep.”

“How utterly charming,” Crawly drawled. “Clearly one of ours.”

“Hmm. Yes, quite so. In the jail, Joseph gained something of a reputation.”

“I can guess: didn’t keep his mouth shut about the dreams?”

Aziraphale paused for a moment, considering his words a little more carefully than usual. “Not as such, no. He has learned tact though, and that perhaps he shouldn’t just blurt everything out. This reputation eventually made it back to Pharaoh when he suffered strange dreams.”

“Wait, it’s not just the prophet who dreams?” That was a surprise. “The prophetic ones, I mean: I know humans dream.”

“No, that can be anyone. Joseph has an unusual amount of them, and the gift of interpretation, but God shares Her knowledge with whomever She feels fit. And perhaps it was Her way of saving Joseph from his terrible situation. His jailers were as kind as they could be, but a cell is still a cell.”

“They were, were they?”

Aziraphale blushed a bit. “I had to do _something_! He’s my charge.” He sounded most put out by the implication he would do anything less than his best.

“Course you did. So, dream interpreted…” 

“I’m sure you can guess; I know you do actually pay attention. Seven years of excellent harvests followed by seven years of famine: there are another five years of this to come. The Egyptians were prepared by the time the crops failed.”

“Because they listened to the loud-mouthed idiot.” Crawly sighed. “Yes, I realise the irony. Not that She would ever have allowed this lot to die out.” He gestured skywards somewhat absently. “Got to wait for that apocalypse to wipe them all out, because that’s not completely pointless at all.”

“Shhh!” Aziraphale looked around nervously. “We can’t question the plan. It’s not our place to know the specifics, the whys.”

“But why not?”

Aziraphale looked more than a little flustered, and took some time to arrange his headscarf, so that it covered his head once more. Good – it toned down the glare of sheer _goodness_ coming from him in the bright sun.

“Well, we wouldn’t understand, would we? We’re not meant to know _everything_.”

“Don’t see why not,” Crawly muttered mutinously. “Just fantastic. Prophet Boy saved the world. So, what next?”

Aziraphale shifted his feet a little. “If… If you wouldn’t mind staying around, I fear I’ve left it a little late to leave for the ærie.”

Crawly rolled his eyes but caught himself before making a snide comment: he didn’t have much of a leg to stand on after all[14]. “Have either of us actually got the hang of this yet? Do you have somewhere safe to stay?”

Aziraphale nodded, much to Crawly’s delight. It was difficult to find anywhere to stay now: every scrap of accommodation was filled with people following the same stories that had brought Crawly here too. There wasn’t even a good place for Crawly to pitch the tent on his back, not that either of them would brave a moult under such flimsy protection.

It did make sense that Aziraphale would have somewhere he could retreat to, given that he had apparently been here for some time. He assumed that was where they were going when Aziraphale started moving, but instead he stepped into the lines of those waiting for their food allotment.

“Of course, I haven’t been taking anything until recently,” he confided, his voice low. “But it’s unfortunate that I couldn’t just wait out this famine. I hate to think that I’m taking food from some poor child.”

Crawly looked around. “Even the ‘poor’ children are well-fed here,” he observed laconically. “I wouldn’t worry yourself about it.”

.oOo.

“Mereret, how _are_ you? How is your daughter getting on?”

Aziraphale was a nightmare. Crawly liked humans, as a general rule. Not the ones he usually had to deal with, usually the powerful ones, and some of Aziraphale’s ones were just too blessedly _good_ , but the ones in the middle he liked. The ones that could honestly go either way (but probably up). He did. But stopping every few hundred cubits to chat to _another_ acquaintance was not something he had ever done. And that was after the good half hour speaking to the prophet[15]. Aziraphale knew a _lot_ of his neighbours, and the ins and outs of their daily lives, and now so did Crawly[16]. Mereret was a care-worn woman with silver-streaked hair, and within thirty seconds he had gathered that her daughter was expecting a child but was beset with health problems and relying on Mereret for support. She had had good days in the past, but they were dwindling now, and she was all-but bed-ridden.

Aziraphale looked vaguely guilty, and Crawly suspected that the daughter’s ‘good days’ were preceded by a visit from a certain angel who was currently in no shape to be doing that sort of thing. He had to be a lot further along than he had led Crawly to believe, if he hadn’t been able to miracle away something that trivial.

It couldn’t just be the prophet that was keeping Aziraphale from going to the ærie, because they spent their moults together. Crawly… well, he supposed he _could_ go and off the prophet while Aziraphale was napping but that wasn’t how this thing worked. And Aziraphale knew that too. There was something else at work here. He just needed to work out what.

.oOo.

It didn’t take all that long: two days later, the first day Crawly went to the market square alone for Aziraphale’s grain ration, because Aziraphale was shedding the last few primaries and he was exhausted, he saw _them_[17].

He had put a lot of work into _them_ , twenty-odd years ago: Crawly knew the lot of them on sight and very quickly put some effort into making sure they wouldn’t know him if and when they saw him too. It was bad enough that there was a chance someone might call him by name: he certainly couldn’t be called Tanith _and_ have red hair and gold, serpentine eyes.

And it was definitely likely to be ‘when’ they saw him – there was no way he was missing out on the drama that was about to unfold here. Joseph vs the other eleven Sons of Jacob? This was going to be wonderful entertainment. And Aziraphale would be so disappointed if the whole thing happened without either of them knowing what occurred.

Crawly slithered himself closer and closer to where the action would happen and, once he was at the front of the queue, he made sure that Joseph, and only Joseph could recognise him. They struck up conversation, centring on the fact that Aziraphale wasn’t there, and it was a good thing that Crawly[18] was there to take care of him because the poor chap has been looking worse and worse for a while. Probably overdone it taking care of everyone else- what are _they_ doing here‽[19]

Crawly turned his head the way Joseph was looking and arranged a politely confused expression. “Starving, by the looks of things. Must be a bunch of refugees from outside.”

“They’re my brothers,” Joseph hissed.

Crawly did the proper human thing of checking the walking skeletons, then Joseph, and back again. “What, _all_ of them?”

Joseph nodded tightly. “They sold me.” His voice shook a little as he spoke through gritted teeth. “I spent years as a slave, years in _prison_ because of _them_.”

“Turned out well for them, didn’t it?” Crawly observed dryly. “I mean, shit for you at first, but hey – you’ve got all the gold and food you could possibly want.”

“My youngest brother is missing,” Joseph said, sounding genuinely distressed. “The only other borne of my mother, our father’s favourite. What have they done with him?”

The crowd was starting to give the ten filthy men space. Egyptians weren’t well-disposed to the Hebrew nation even under the best of circumstances, and these were certainly not those. Not for the Hebrews, anyway.

“The people seem suspicious of them,” Crawly noted as the ten brothers approached and knelt, seemingly properly respectful. “They’re worried about all the refugees scoping out decent land. I’m sure these lads could survive a few more days if you wanted to find out.”

The prophet rose spectacularly to the occasion: he looked down his nose at them, he accused them of being spies, pretended not to believe they were ball brothers. He threw them in jail! And he did it all speaking only Egyptian and letting his translator do all the work into Hebrew and back again. Crawly would have been impressed by that talent alone – he often struggled to not reply in the language of choice, whatever was being spoken at the time.

But Crawly couldn’t understand why none of them recognised the kid – he’d scrubbed up so that was flying under the radar with the Egyptians, but he hadn’t changed all that much. Crawly had recognised him at a glance, from a distance, and these were his _brothers_!

.oOo.

It was only as he was relating the tale to Aziraphale later that evening that it struck him:

“Bless it, it was _me_! I brought him inside my disguise so he could recognise me.”

“What was?”

“They didn’t recognise Joseph. Probably couldn’t, and it’s my fault. But it was absolutely brilliant. You’d probably have hated it. They’re currently in jail, the whole lot of them, and I didn’t do anything! Well, except that one thing, but that was an accident. The kid could have been honest.”

Aziraphale scowled. “I should never have let you go out there alone: God Herself only knows what you have done to reuniting Joseph with his father.”

“Angel, you are in no condition to go out there. You can’t even un-manifest your wings any more, can you?”

They really were in a sorry-looking state by now, with only the last two primaries on each side to drop, and stubby little pinfeathers poking out, hot and itchy and one bump away from disaster.

Aziraphale sighed and dropped the piece of bread he had been picking at. “Crawly, please do not cause any more disasters over the next few days. I’m not sure my corporation can take the stress.”

.oOo.

For two days, there was no news to deliver to Aziraphale, who grew more and more distressed about events. Not for the brothers, for the Egyptians did not starve their prisoners[20], but the family left in Canaan.

“Crawly, this is dreadfully important. If I fail at this, they might replace me here! I might be ordered back to Heaven.” He poked despondently at the contents of his bowl.

Crawly was flabbergasted that Heaven could be so cruel as to put that kind of pressure on one of their own at this time: “They do know how badly moult affects us, don’t they?”

“I have mentioned it once or twice, but I’m sure they think I exaggerate it.” He lifted his spoon a few inches before dropping it again. “What about your lot?”

Crawly shrugged. “Not many left with wings to warn, even if I wanted to. I might as well put a knife in my back myself if I do that.”

“That’s a reasonable point. Please don’t do that.”

“Wait…” What Aziraphale had said before finally sank in. “They could replace you here? Just because of this?”

“I did say that, didn’t I? They weren’t best pleased about the whole ‘sold into slavery’ incident as it was.”

“Eat those blessed beans.” He miracled them back to being warm. “Yes, you did. We definitely can’t let that happen. Leave it with me, I’ll have a word.”

.oOo.

And so he did. “I know you’re angry, but you’ll never find out the truth about Benjamin and your father if you don’t let them go. Maybe show some faith that they’ll return? And surely you don’t want to punish all your nieces and nephews for the sins of their fathers? And let your poor father starve?”

____

Crawly felt… clean, saying it. It was unpleasant. It wasn’t what he was supposed to do. But it _had_ to be done, for Aziraphale. And, he reminded himself sternly, Aziraphale had compromised when the situation had been reversed – he had found a balance that, while it hadn’t exactly pleased either side, both of them tolerated the outcome. Hell more so than Heaven, it seemed: Crowley had been praised for managing to corrupt so many of the brothers in spite of his adversary’s meddling.

Joseph seemed to agree. “If I make one stay, they will have to bring Benjamin here. If he is unharmed…” He sighed. “I don’t know any more. I can’t forgive them for what they did to me, but Benjamin was only a child – he would have been defenceless if they had pursued him also. And my poor father if that is the case.”

Crawly shrugged and gestured with his hands, something that was already recognised throughout the known world as _‘what can you do?’_ “There’s only one way to find out, my lord. You have little to lose and everything to gain.”

Joseph drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, carefully. His eyes hardened in resolve. “You’re right as always, Tanith. I shall… It would make the most sense to keep the eldest here, but Reuben spoke against the plan.”

His expression was uncertain once more, and Crawly resisted the urge to bite his tongue in order to keep silent and allow Joseph time to make his own mind up. Crawly could only influence him so far here, and he really had no idea how to play this: if it went well he would never live this down[21], but if it went badly ~~he could lose~~[22] Aziraphale might be reassigned. So the human had to decide for himself, walk the middle ground. Hopefully.

“I will not curse Reuben to never see the rest of our brothers again if they do not return with Benjamin. Simeon is the next eldest.”

.oOo.

Aziraphale fretted something awful when Crawly recounted the events of the day. Apparently there were plans for all of the Sons of Israel, not just the prophet, and should the wrong decision be made there could be terrible consequences. For Aziraphale more than anyone.

Crawly’s hands stilled from their task of preening Aziraphale’s frankly awful-looking wings, realising that he may have inadvertently done something wrong. Usually that was his _raison d’être_[23], and many years before, he had joked with Aziraphale about getting into trouble if he didn’t do the wrong thing, but in this instance he would much rather not “Best hope they come back then. But listen, here’s something really crazy: the boys brought money to pay for the food, but Joseph’s given it back to them – put it in the sacks with the grain.” He resumed his task, carefully shaking loose any feathers that might become itchy and cause the angel to twitch, or scratch unseeing and cause damage to the pinfeathers coming in.

“How peculiar.” Aziraphale sounded vaguely alert, which was an improvement over his usual drowsy these days. “Did he tell you why?”

“Nope. He must have had a reason, but I’m blessed if I can work out what it is. And he’s still only speaking in Egyptian.”

There was a few minutes of quiet as they contemplated and Crawly worked on getting the troublesome coverts sorted out. They were a pain at the best of times – especially if you were trying to do your own[24] – but right now it was delicate work, followed by the much less delicate work of dumping great handfuls of feathers into Aziraphale’s bottomless bag[25]. Crawly was just wondering if Aziraphale had fallen asleep when he spoke:

“Perhaps it is a test? The boy worries that his brothers are being dishonest about young Benjamin, yes? Perhaps this is another test of their honesty – will they return the money when they return for Simeon?”

Crawly made a sound in his throat – not agreeing precisely but acknowledging Aziraphale’s comments. It made sense, in the same bonkers way that most of Upstairs’ things did: all the tests of faith God insisted on baffled Crawly but then again, that had always been his Sin, hadn’t it? Asking questions? Asking ‘why?’. That was why he’d started hanging round with Lucifer and his crowd in the first place – they didn’t seem to mind his questions[26]. Aziraphale was skittish when it came to that kind of thing, and understandably so[27], so Crawly decided to hold his tongue this time.

.oOo.

They had most of the lunar cycle until _they_ would be back – it was an eleven-day journey to Canaan, and Crawly was glad of it. Aziraphale had reached the point of unconsciousness, the point at which he couldn’t be left alone[28] . By the time he came out of it he would be hale, and have his flight feathers in. And it should be just in time, by Crawly’s estimation. Moult was a little different each time, but twenty-two days should be enough time for everything to resolve itself from this point.

Crawly risked darting out on the third day[29], to keep up appearances and tell Joseph why he wouldn’t be around for a while – that Aziraphale had taken a turn for the worse[30] and needed constant nursing. The young man was clearly worried about his friend and sent Crawly away with as much food as he could carry after extracting a promise that Crawly would send someone for help if he needed it.

* * *

[11] Really, though, who else would be calling his _real_ name in the middle of Egypt? Or anywhere on Earth? He’d been using pseudonyms for a while now: usually a translation that amused him.

[12] A figure that, one day, Scottish women would come to refer to as “a pencil with the wood scraped off

[13] It was Crawly’s experience that these kinds of things that were blamed on women often weren’t their fault at all, but Aziraphale wasn't the misogynist most male-presenting beings were and wouldn’t lie about that kind of thing.

[14] Granted, sometimes he didn’t have any legs at all, let alone ones to stand on, but the sentiment remained: he was as useless at managing his moult cycle as ~~his friend~~ Aziraphale.

[15] Yes, okay, he was less of an ass than he had been a couple of decades ago. He probably wouldn’t have survived as a slave if he hadn’t changed. Say what you like about slavery (and Crawly said a lot): it had done Joseph of Canaan (or apparently Zaphenath-Paneah these days) the world of good.

[16] He was being introduced as ‘Tanith’, which Crawly didn’t mind, but the joke lost its meaning in translation. It was all about the eyes.

[17] Not to be mistaken with Them. No capital here, just italics. Crawly would not meet Them for another few millennia yet. And besides, none of the Sons of Israel were as terrifying as the supposedly pacifistic Pepper.

[18] Tanith

[19] It would be several thousand years before Crowley would invent the interrobang. He would do it mostly as a way of irritating Aziraphale; that it would cause arguments among language scholars would just be an added bonus.

[20] They had much more creative ways of doing away with those deemed to be troublesome.

[21] Screwing up a second chance to mess with the prophet? He’d be lucky not to be dragged back to Hell kicking and screaming. And that would just be on the journey there – it would get worse once he was actually beyond the gates.

[22] Nope. Admitting that even to himself would just lead to disaster. They might be very bad at being Adversaries, but that was it. Absolutely definitely it.

[23] Not that French had evolved as a language yet, but then neither had English so what the heck.

[24] Corporations were _not_ designed for preening one’s own wings – the angles were all wrong.

[25] Aziraphale had made this bag some time between his first moult and Crawly’s second. It was a thing of beauty, metaphysically speaking, and never seemed to weigh any more, no matter how much was inside it, and what you wanted was always the first thing to hand.  
Crawly was very tempted to sneak inside it in his serpent form, just to see what it was like in there. But he worried that he might never get out again if Aziraphale didn’t know he was inside.

[26] In fact, Lucifer had actively encouraged Crawly to keep asking questions. Crawly might not have been all that important in the grand scheme of things, but he was clever. Clever enough to make stars and nebulae. Just clever enough to get _into_ trouble, usually.

[27] That way lay Falling. Or Sauntering, but the end result was the same, and that wasn’t an acceptable outcome for Aziraphale.

[28] This wasn’t strictly true: Crawly absolutely could leave Aziraphale. He just really didn’t want to. This was the really dangerous part, because not only would Aziraphale be helpless if a demon were to happen upon him (or even a human who justifiably freaked out about his wings), but nightmares were not uncommon and had the potential for thrashing wings and breaking the vulnerable pinfeathers.  
They had learned this the hard way during Aziraphale’s first moult: he had ended up lopsided for a century, but Crawly had been the one with the truly unpleasant task of yanking out the damaged primary*. That still featured in Crawly’s own nightmares occasionally, which was an astonishing feat given some of the depravity he had witnessed.  
*See [‘Of Firsts and Foremosts’](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20885246) by [Kedreeva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedreeva/pseuds/Kedreeva)

[29] He miracle the ever-loving shit out of everything in the small dwelling. Walls, floors, ceilings, the table… everything even remotely close to the nest was threatened until it was soft and pliable and not liable to damage any part of Aziraphale while he slept. The building quietly trembled the entire time he was gone, but the almost-comatose angel was entirely oblivious.  
Crawly was going to have to lay low on the miracle front for a while. Questions didn’t get raised all too often because honestly using miracles (for mischief) was part of his job, but that many all at once? Borderline. 

[30] Not even a lie, even if they had both known to expect this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be the final chapter - one chapter as Crawly's moult, and the other as Aziraphale's, but it's become something of a monster and I thought that this was a good place to leave off for now. I am determined to get this finished, I'm just... Genesis isn't exactly up to modern standards of storytelling and I keep yelling at the brothers for lying to Jacob (again).


End file.
